


interlude

by EmmaMae



Series: dangerous men [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Crack, Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, OTP tropes, Post-Canon, Probably ooc, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, multiple AUs, woah there this isn't so fluffy any more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaMae/pseuds/EmmaMae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Common tropes for OTP fics, a trope per chapter. </p><p>Tags updated as I go. </p><p> </p><p>This is nothing but a blatant excuse to write really OOC fluffy mini-ficlets about Daud & Martin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. height differences

**Author's Note:**

> Set three years after Dishonored. Apparently someone commissioned Sokolov to paint the Royal Spymaster and the High Overseer together, and it was most likely a certain a young Empress.

Daud is taller than him. It's not that its ever really been that much of an issue, and it's not as if Martin dislikes the way Daud has to lean down to kiss him. But he is, and it's never been more apparent until now. He tilts his head slightly as he examines the portrait, as if the height difference will diminish by the angle at which the painting is seen. It _is_ a lovely portrait, Sokolov managed to capture the calm austerity of Daud's grey eyes and the quirk of his lips almost perfectly. As for himself...do his ears really stick out _that_ much?

Daud's arm wraps around his waist, his head coming to rest against the side of Martin's, and he lets out a low whistle. "Am I really that much taller than you?"

"It is apparently so. Although I've never really noticed, myself." Martin answers. Of course he had noticed. Daud was a large man, but it was the way that Daud carried himself that gave off the impression of a much slighter man; he was quick and light on his feet for a man of his size, his movements were fluid, graceful, and almost feline.

"Hm." Daud says as he presses a kiss to Martin's temple, he smells faintly of tobacco and sea salt, and Martin smiles as his fingers tangle themselves in the belt-loops of Daud's trousers.

Later, when the portrait is long forgotten as are their clothes and all the formal niceties that come with living in the Tower, Daud plucks Martin up like a doll and presses him against the wall. Martin smiles against Daud's lips, his feet hooking behind the assassin's back, and decides that perhaps the height difference isn't such a bad thing.  


	2. casually sitting on each other's laps during ensemble meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of High Overseer Martin and Royal Spymaster Daud, and set roughly two years after Dishonored.

Martin is still half-asleep when he heads down for breakfast. It feels all _too early_ , the sunlight streams in through the tall windows along the corridors and Martin squints down at the rug in stubborn refusal to accept that it is in fact morning, because it certainly doesn't _feel_ like morning.

 He had been forced to stay up half the night seated at the desk in his chambers, labouring over a hefty stack of paperwork (because some idiotic Overseer had forgotten the Litany whilst reciting it to a school of children and instead of referring to a book he'd _improvised_ , which resulted in thirty or so young children screaming and crying in horror), and a quickly diminishing supply of candles. And he had sworn he'd seen the beginnings of the sunrise peaking through the gaps in his curtains by the time he'd crawled into bed.

Now he was being forced to attend breakfast at this _insane_ hour by order of the young Empress herself, as he had been required to from the day he'd been released from Coldridge with the word _forgiven_ still burning in his mind.

Which was a ridiculous idea that Her Majesty had insisted on, for all of them to sit and have breakfast, to sip at orange juice and pass around scones and discuss the weather, when really they wanted nothing more than to plunge the nearest knife into the heart of their neighbour. Nothing like murder and conspiring to overthrow an Empire to bring people together.

Of course, by the time Martin drags himself into the dining room, all of the seats have been taken. He makes a point of glaring at Curnow as he pours himself a coffee, because the Captain very rarely even sets foot in the Tower let alone joins them for _breakfast_ , and then promptly smiles at Emily in some way of an apology for being late. Not that the girl is paying attention to him, she seemed all too interested in heaping jam into her scone.

And then there was the matter of finding a place to sit.

It was then that he noticed Daud; who was sat with an untouched apricot tartlet on his plate, reclined against the back of the plush chair, with a slight smile on his lips as he watched Martin move about the room. Martin kept his eyes on his coffee as he trudged his way over to the Spymaster, and said nothing as he seated himself on Daud's lap. Conversations seemed to have come to an abrupt halt and he felt the burn of eyes on him, but he paid the other no mind as he rested his head in the crook of Daud's neck, and listened to the sound of the other man's breathing.

"Good morning, Martin." Daud said calmly, and truly it was remarkable how the man was able to control his voice, and presumably hold a neutral expression, with the High Overseer on his lap.

"No, no it really _isn't._ " Martin muttered, raising his coffee to his lips and almost inhaling the steaming drink.

Slowly, conversations resumed, and the others at least pretended not to be interested in what was happening on their end of the table. Emily, however, was giggling gleefully to an exasperated Corvo, saying something about how nothing _ever_ happens at breakfast. "Late night?" Daud asked, arms wrapping around him almost idly.

The man had a talent for doing things without drawing attention to his actions.

Martin only groaned into Daud's shirt. And Daud responded pressing his lips to Martin's un-combed hair. The two of them stayed as they were, with Martin cuddled against Daud's chest and Daud's hands absently stroking the length of Martin's back, even when the others slowly filtered out of the room. Even when Pendleton sneered in their direction and muttered something unintelligible, but likely insulting, neither moves or attempts to spit something back at him. Eventually, Thomas turned up and passed a thick envelope to Daud, signalling the beginning of his working day. Martin reluctantly slid from his lover's lap and pressed a fleeting kiss to Daud's cheek and headed to his own chambers, knowing that he had a long day ahead of him, although it had started better than he had expected. Perhaps he should use Daud as a chair more often...


	3. unexpected and very public declarations of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unexpected and very public declarations of love: I took that a step further and quite possibly a step too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So crack. So very very crack.

Daud was at his desk, leaning his chin on his hand as he filled out a sheet of the endless stream of paperwork and reports, the hand that held the pen was aching in a way that he hadn't quite gotten used to. It was one of the downsides to his role, the investigating was somewhat enjoyable, even the strategies were preferable to the insufferable written work to be done. Still, there was a lot to do, and he wasn't going to pass it all on to his second, Thomas, not whilst his hand could still grip the pen. In a few hours time, however...

The speakers crackled and fuzzed, and the announcer's voice wove through the air of his office. Daud wasn't really listening, he picked up the odd word about whale oil prices dropping again, something about the school houses re-opening, but mostly he'd learned to ignore the speakers long ago. But something was tugging at his attention, and so he stilled his hand and glanced up at the speaker, and he listened.

"...lead to a lot of controversy, however the Empress is pleased to announce that marriage has been legalised for same-sex couples-"

The pen clattered to the desk. Well, he certainly wasn't expecting _that._

"Sir, are you-" Thomas glanced up from his own stack of paper work from the other side of the room, his brown eyes fringed with concern.

"Thomas, where is Martin today? Has he left for Holger Square?" He heard himself ask, his voice breathless as his heart barely maintained its beat. His hands were shaking.

Concern turned into confusion. "High Overseer Martin left shortly after breakfast this morning and isn't due to return until this evening."

"Call for a car, I'd like to leave for the Office of the High Overseer immediately." Daud swept the sheets of paper into a neat pile before standing to exit the room. Thomas stumbled to his feet, following Daud out of the office, struggling to match his pace as he strutted through the Tower. "May I ask why, sir?"

Daud laughed, a short and sarcastic sound. "No."

 

\---

 

Martin was in the middle of a sermon when Daud came crashing through the doors. He was stood with his hands folded behind his back as he addressed his Overseers, quoting passages of the Litany and the Strictures effortlessly as he offered advice and guidance. Daud would have lingered near the back on other occasions, content to hear Martin's smooth voice echo around the cavernous and flawless marble hall, he was a talented speaker with a gift for subduing even the most zealous of his order. But today, Daud had another desire on his mind.

He stormed through the doors, boots unusually loud against the white marble floor, interrupting Martin mid-sentence. Several Overseer's reached for their weapons, angry golden faces turning to Daud as he passed by.

"Daud, I'm in the middle of something, whatever it is it can wait until I'm finished." Martin frowned, his arms crossing his chest in irritation.

"No, it can't." Daud muttered as he reached the slightly raised platform where Martin stood. Martin regarded him with icy blue eyes as Daud smoothed down thick Spymaster's coat with a gloved hand, no doubt planning a hundred different way he could punish Daud for disturbing his sermon in such a brash manner. But the glare gave way to genuine surprise as Daud dropped to his knee and tugged on Martin's hand. There was chorus of gasps and murmurs of accusations and nods of confirmation exchanged by Overseers, and the few men Daud had brought with him, alike.

"What are yo-" Martin's heart was hammering against his chest, and Daud squeezed his hand in reassurance. The heat rose to his cheeks as he remembered those around him, his Overseers, those he had tried so hard to hide his relationship with Daud from.

"We've been together for long enough, we might as well tie the knot now that it's legal." Daud said simply, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

It was so far from what a proposal should have been that Martin tore his hand away from Daud's grasp and took a step backwards.  "I have to say, that was the most un-romantic thing I have ever heard."

Daud's face fell, hands falling limply to his sides. "Is that a no?"

Martin folded his arms over his chest once more, and tilted his head slightly as he regarded the man before him. "No, I'm simply saying that you'll have to do better than that. And by the Void, stand up, I'm not some blushing maiden to be swooned."

Daud raised a brow; really, how had he not expected this from Martin. The man would complain about his own funeral from the Void itself. With a sigh, he rose to his feet and took a step forwards. He gently placed a hand on Martin's waist, the other fluttering up to brush a loose hair from his forehead before resting on his jaw. Martin instinctively leaned into his touch, and Daud smiled softly.

"Martin, my love, we've been together for over six years now, and we've been through much together, from assassinations to plots against the empire, poisons and prisons, exile and almost execution. And I know that I don't say it nearly enough, but I love you, and there is no one I'd rather spend the rest of my days with. So, will you marry me?"

And for a moment, there was nothing but silence, and the gentle sounds of Daud fighting to maintain his breath. His grey eyes were on Martin's, wide and doting, and honestly it was the most endearing look he'd ever seen on the assassin's face, and the slight redness of his cheeks only made his smile widen.

"Hmm...well when you put it like that.." Martin's eyes lowered, and he leaned forward, lips gently brushing against the assassin's. He felt Daud's breathing hitch as his tongue traced the line of his mouth gently, seeking entry. And Daud's kissed him back, tenderly, and fully aware of the roomful of men watching them.

Daud pulled back, briefly. "Is that a yes?"

Martin laughed. "Yes, I'll marry you, you big idiot." And he pulled him back in for another kiss, deeper this time, hands exploring and feeling and pulling at each other to get _closer_ , teeth and tongues jarring, and honestly it was as if they hadn't seen each other in months.

And, if it wasn't for the burst of applause and cheering, they would have completely forgotten about their audience.


	4. reincarnation or time loops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reincarnation or time loops:  
> How about canon low-chaos ending and the Void? 
> 
> Oh and I smashed the fluff ideals out of the park. Woops. Here's some feels you know you weren't prepared for.

He liked to think that he was used to the stomach-churning sensation of waking to the endless blue of the Void. The mark had been burning on his skin for years, more than he liked to admit or even think about, he _should_ be used to it.

It was always unnervingly still, neither warm nor cold, yet he shivered. Daud stood at the bottom of a winding staircase, thorned roses entwined with the steal railings, steps clean and gleaming as if no boot had ever climbed them before. He climbed the stairs slowly, cautiously, unable to shake off the feeling of cool breath against his neck or the _wrongness_ that hung heavy in the thick air.

He found himself stood on the edge of a fragment of a meeting room, a large table stretched out before him with an untouched feast spread along the centre, a crumbling section of a wall pinned with maps and notes. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he edged forwards, his left hand itching beneath his glove, when he felt the air shift and the temperature suddenly plummeted.

Blue eyes blinked at him, blue like the Void, pale and indifferent, but unmistakably blue.

"Martin?" His voice was soft, quiet as if he was reluctant to disturb the endless silence, almost strained.

Martin was pale ( _had he always been this pale?_ ), his cheeks gaunt, and his lips pursed as his eyes grazed over Daud. "You let me die."

Daud's chest tightened and he turned away. It..hadn't been an easy decision, but it was true. He had known that Martin had left for Kingsparrow Island, with the little Empress in tow, and when Corvo had given him his life and disappeared from view, he knew that Corvo would follow that little girl to the ends of the earth. Havelock was a shark; always had been. When Martin had first taken Daud to that filthy little pub, that lazy voice of his singing praises to the fine stock of whiskey and dark corners where no one would notice an assassin and an overseer drinking, touching, talking, Daud had met Havelock's eyes over the bar and knew that the man was trouble. He had a hunger in his eyes, the sort that gnawed at a man's soul until it withered away into nothing, an unsatable appetite for power and control. Yet Daud said nothing when Martin spoke of Havelock's quest for restoring the throne, of the titles and the _honour_. He did nothing when Martin failed to show to their weekly 'meetings', when he heard about an _Overseer_ being responsible for Corvo's escape, and when he heard the name _High Overseer Martin_ buzzing over the loudspeakers.

He had been halfway to Serkonos by the time he'd learnt of the man's death. 

Daud was a man of many regrets, they haunted his sleep and tormented him endlessly, his once-still hands now often shook when the image of blood cross his mind, of swords and poison, of death. He goes through phases of despair, when no glass is left unbroken or bottle of whiskey left untouched, and phases of severe melancholy where he wouldn't dare to utter a word, not even to Thomas, or touch the food his Whalers brought him. The Empress's death had been a heavy weight on his shoulders, her blood had stained his hands despite his frantic scrubbing, and he could still see her hollow gaze when he closed his eyes. But Martin...he didn't even know how he died. Only that he was dead and Daud hadn't even said goodbye.

"I...I'm sorry."

Martin's dead eyes darkened, and he sneered: "That's not good enough."

 

Daud awoke with a start, panting and sweating in the dry heat of the small room he'd claimed for himself, kicking the thin sheet to the floor. He lay still for a little while, listening to his own shallow breathing and the distant sound of Rulfio's hounds barking.

He was up long before the low burn of the sunrise, his loose shirt flapping open in the gentle morning breeze as he strode to one of the outbuildings. He had been putting aside coin for this very farm for some time, perhaps from before the death of the Empress, and it was strange to think that after all those years in Dunwall he was finally back in his homeland.

He had been little more than a boy when he stowed away on a ship bound for Gristol, pale hands clenched around a dagger encrusted with dried and flaking blood, still frantic, still _shaking_... It was a lifetime ago, and things had changed, or perhaps it was he who had changed. Still, Serkonos was different, it wasn't the rough but charming country he remembered, the coastal towns had become industrialised with the roaring trade of whale oil dominating the once modest ports, a blue hue radiating from the ever-growing cities in the darkness of night. In the past twenty-odd years, Cullero had began to feel much more like Dunwall, and that hadn't brought him much comfort.

The countryside, however, was unchanged. Rural folk were stubborn and clung on to tradition with both hands, shaking off the temptations of the modern age, preferring horse and carts to the new cars, candles to whale oil lamps. It was dusty and hardwearing, frustrating at best and at its worse, well, at its worse he'd shut himself the wine cellar and pretend not to hear his Whalers at the door, now that was the Serkonos he remembered. The tourists could keep their sandy beaches, the industrialists could have their vibrant cities, all Daud wanted was the peace that retirement promised.

The farm had several outbuildings; a stables, kennel, a decaying barn, and an old storage shed. The shed had been where Daud had dumped the few possessions he'd brought with him, all locked up in a battered trunk, and had hoped to forget about them. But now, there was _something_ telling him to open that trunk. Daud knelt on the damp floor, fingers fumbling to put the key in the lock, and when the damned thing finally swung open he could barely see its contents in the low light. He felt his way through the uneven piles, calloused fingers passing over mementos of an old and distant life, finding letters bundled together with string and journals with torn covers and split spines, and at the very bottom was a leather bound book. It was small, about a third of the size of an average book, bound in black leather that had softened over the years, the golden inscription gleaming in the fractured light.

Daud wasn't a religious man, he'd never read the Litany, he didn't know the strictures, or what good any of it really did. To him; it was all rather pointless. Martin, however, had been devout in his own peculiar way. He could recite the strictures even bare and trembling, kneeling on the cold floorboards of a borrowed room, Daud's hands and tongue teasing and tempting the words from his lips. Martin, who'd worn Daud's kisses under his Overseer uniform, worn it with pride and unquestionable confidence, bold and brash Martin with a silver tongue and a talent for firearms. Daud had called him ' _zealot_ ', watched as anger had stirred those serene blue eyes, and had been surprised to see a smirk fall upon his face, a hand clutching the hairs at the base of his skull and pulling him closer, ' _heretic_ ' whispered against his lips. Martin, who'd watched for opportunity with hungry eyes, unafraid to take the leap, only to come crashing down.

Daud locked the trunk and stepped out from the cool shade of the shed, the _Seven Strictures_ held loosely in his hand, and crossed the courtyard to the farmhouse. Dawn was passing, the sun low but present in the sky, and few Whalers were around. Those that were, were wise enough to turn their gaze elsewhere as Daud passed, it was unnerving how they just _knew_ what sort of mood he was in by a glance. Though, he _was_ walking around half-dressed and clutching a book as if it would bite him at any given opportunity. Honestly, it was surprising that they hadn't killed him by now.

He spent the day locked away in his room, reading Martin's book of strictures and squinting to make sense of the neatly scrawled notes in the margins, drinking in every word as if to learn something of the man through his reading material. Of course, it wasn't _all_ that he did, there were other responsibilities that required his attention, and he wasn't the type to bury it under his mattress and will it to disappear. Though, when he worked he did so from the confines of his own walls, at his own pace, without Thomas leaning over his shoulder or Chester's awful singing disturbing the peaceful silence.

When night had fallen, his eyes were barely able to stay open, and it didn't take long for him to nod off to sleep, his head resting somewhere between the sixth and seventh strictures.

 

"Three years." Martin wasn't looking at him, wasn't even facing him, he was the dark lean figure cut against the pale blue infinity of the Void. "Three years in Serkonos and that trunk hasn't been touched until now."

Daud clasped his hands behind his back, fighting the urge to step behind Martin and wrap his arms around his waist. He wanted to touch him, to feel that he's here and he's _real_ , but what if he wasn't? What if his hand passed through Martin's ghostly flesh? His nails bit into the flesh of his palm, and he anchored himself to the familiar feeling of pain, of the border between reality and fantasy.

"I'm not explaining myself to you."

Martin glanced back at him then, a fleeting flash of blue and a bemused smile. "You think this is a trick. You don't trust your eyes because I'm dead and the Outsider is a mischievous little bastard with an awful habit of being cruel when he's bored, like a child with a magnifying glass who singes off the legs of ants for entertainment. Well, Daud, do you feel your limbs burning? Have you figured out the punch line yet?"

Daud's jaw tightened; he stepped forward. In the Void, there were no echoes, no semblance of change or disturbance, it was so painfully static that the air itself buzzes with useless energy, an endless hum, a song composed of a single unending note. There was no rhythm, no beat, no count of time passing, no notion of life but solely existing within the confines of that single pitch. It was impossible to tell exactly how much time he had spent in the Void, from a handful of minutes to perhaps the entire night, it was a single captured moment suspended in this rift, it was eternity.

"If I touch you, will you disappear?"

He couldn't see what holds Martin's gaze, what the man saw in the blue hues stretched before them, perhaps nothing, perhaps everything. His grey eyes watched him instead, watched him roll his reply on the tip of his tongue, pale lips pressed into a firm line. Martin met his gaze and held it tightly, a wicked glint in his eyes that was just _so typically Martin,_ he nearly choked. "Would you like to find out?"

"Another night, perhaps." Daud folded his arms across his chest, staring out at the vague form of a whale in the distance.

"You're assuming that I'll be here another night." He can hear the smile in Martin's voice, but doesn't look. He can't look. 

"Will you?"

"Of course."

 

Morning came; he was alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like there's more to add to this, so I may well continue it at some point. It's just.. a very interesting situation that I'd like to explore further.. and I sort of rushed the end so I may edit that in the future... Sorry for the long wait! If you have any tropes or themes you'd like to see in a chapter, send me an ask on [tumblr!](http://shipthenerd.tumblr.com/ask)


	5. babysitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> babysitting:  
> Daud and Martin are trusted to watch over a very courageous young Empress (featuring FLOWER CROWNS!!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to High Overseer Martin and Royal Spymaster Daud...because this AU makes me infinitely happy, and I needed happiness after yesterday's chapter...

The gardens of the Tower still bore signs of Burrow's fortress, with roughly sawn off posts still sticking out amongst the flowers, rusting flood lights entwined with ivy. Emily was blind to it all, skipping just ahead of them, the tail-ends of an old sailing song drifting in the summer breeze in her wake. Martin hadn't seen Burrow's fortress, hadn't really seen the Tower until after Coldridge, and was ill-equiped to compare. The pale stone was scarred in places, despite the stonemason's hard work, and the outline of the iron fortifications was still visible. Still, the gardens were beautiful this time of year, the flowers were in full bloom and the air was warm and pleasant.

Corvo had business to attend to in Potterstead and wouldn't return for another week, and the Lord Protector (come Regent, as the Empress was only thirteen years of age and far too young to rule an empire) had left the only men he could trust to watch over Emily, that being Daud and Martin. Well, Corvo trusted Daud, and Daud trusted Martin, and that left the two of them with an adventurous thirteen year old girl to shepherd. She was easy enough to look after, with the help with a whole fleet of tutors and governesses, and honestly all it took was a fantastical story and a set of paints to keep her entertained for a good few hours. Today, however, the was bright and the sky was clear, rare weather even in the Gristol summers, and Martin had suggested to make whole use of it.

They walked in content silence, with only Emily's distant chattering and the guards and servants painting the air with the day-to-day hum of conversation, occasionally commenting on something meaningless. Their gloved hands brushed and bumped into each other, too frequent to be accidental. Martin felt a smile spread across his lips as Daud reached out, tentatively threading their hands together, and Daud shyly watched Martin's face, his heart hammering against his chest. Martin tightened his grip, giving him a reassuring squeeze, his thumb drawing circles on the back of Daud's hand, soft and tender, drawing light and colour to seep from the seams of Daud's thick leather glove.

Up ahead, there was the slightest flash of a knowing smile before Emily ducked under the branches of tree, little fingers braiding the stems of flowers together in a colourful loop. She slipped out of their sight, for but a moment, collecting flowers both small and large and weaving them together. And then she rounded a topiary bush, behind the pair whose hands were still tightly entwined, and giggled as she plopped a flower crown on both of their heads.

Daud may be quick on his feet, and Martin had a cutting eye that made hiding hard, but Emily had the Masked Felon for a father and laughed gleefully as she evaded them.

"Pink rather suits you." Martin said, as they begrudgingly gave up chasing after the Empress, who was sat proudly on the high branch of a tree.

"Shut up, Martin." Daud muttered, fighting a smile as his fingers found Martin's hand. Martin's own crown seemed to suit him gloriously; dazzlingly blue cornflowers, daisies gleaming like pearls, brodiea and hydrangeas, hues of blue threaded with white. It brought out the colour of his eyes and the flushed redness of his cheeks.  

Martin turned towards the white towers he was beginning to call home, tugging Daud along with him. "Come, Empress, we should really stop for lunch." He called.

There was a gentle padding of feet rushing behind them. "Can we have cake? I haven't had cake in _ages_. And Samuel says that if you don't eat cake often enough you become _intolerant_ to it."

"I'm sure that's not true. Samuel tends to say strange things when he's been drinking." Martin responded offhandedly. He paused in the doorway to the kitchens, his spare hand drifting up to straighten Daud's crown, a satisfied smile curling the corners of his lips. Daud said nothing, but when Emily was distracted by the cook's abundant collection of pastries and cakes, he leaned over and kissed Martin's cheek.

 

Later, when the sky was dark and the stars blinked blearily at the world below, when the Empress was curled up on the sofa closest to the glow of the fire, Martin rested his head in the crook of Daud's neck and listened to the steady beat of his heart, two rings of flowers shimmering in the golden light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm warming up to this pairing again...will probably be writing this fic more frequently now..


	6. intimacy and 'i love you's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> intimacy and 'i love you's:  
> High Overseer Martin & Royal Spymaster Daud AU
> 
> Explicit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bumped the rating up to explicit for this chapter.... I got a bit carried away...  
> Also, I do hint at scenes from my fic 'when the tides are lowest' in this chapter...It's not necessary to read that fic but, of course, I do recommend it.

A hand trailed down his side, a gentle caress that left goose bumps in its path, the pad of a thumb stroking the curve of his ass; and sparks flew. It felt..well it felt damned good. It had been a long time since he'd been touched so lightly, so _lovingly_ , there was an admiration with every brush of a fingertip, conviction in the other man's molten grey eyes. Daud sucked on his bottom lip, absently, as he watched Martin squirm beneath his hands. And Martin was mesmerised as he watched him in return, eyes fixated on the assassin's swollen and glistening bottom lip, thinking of nothing other than drawing it between his teeth and _biting._

Daud tutted, his head tilting to the side and giving Martin a smug look of reprimand. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not going to kiss you no matter how much you beg for it."

A smirk spread across Martin's lips, daring and rebellious, and with far too much spirit than Daud would have liked for a man in Martin's situation. His knees were spread as far apart as possible without causing too much discomfort, which was near impossible when the man was kneeling on the soft carpets of Daud's chambers in the Tower, and he was quite the display. His pale skin, smooth and milky planes broken only by the flush of bruises and marring of silvery scars, seemed to glow in the flickering candle light, bringing a warmth to his cheeks and a light to his eyes. He was kneeling and bare, just the way Daud liked him, with his spine straight and arms loose at his sides, hair a dishevelled mess and blue eyes _burning_. "Would you prefer if I begged?"

The corner of Daud's lip tugged upwards. "I'd prefer if you were silent."

And Daud planned to make it very hard for Martin to obey. His left hand brushed the length of him, a feather light touch that made the Overseer bite down on his lip in restraint, forcing himself stay _still_ and to not thrust into Daud's touches. Daud raised his right hand and drew a digit into his mouth, tongue slicking the tanned skin whilst Martin grinned in anticipation.

By the Void, the man was _teasing_ him.

Martin heard himself whimper as Daud's arms encircled him, a large and rough palm on the middle of his back guiding his body to rest against Daud's chest, a pillar of support to ground him as the assassin's skilled hands were clutching his arse cheeks. Slowly, Daud eased a finger inside him, and it burned slightly as it passed the first ring of muscle. Martin focussed on keeping his breathing steady as Daud teased and stretched him, one finger becoming two, almost down to the second knuckle. It could have been painful, and it honestly had been the first time, but Daud had learnt from his mistakes, and by the Void the man had turned sex into an art form with his gentle touches and slow rhythm. He worked with the beat of Martin's heart, almost flush against his own, brushing against the spot that always made Martin shiver (later, he planned to exploit that spot and make Martin _scream_ , but not yet; no he had other ideas for the meantime). 

Somehow, Martin's arms had ended up wound around Daud's waist, absently stroking the other man's dusky skin, his cheek resting on his shoulder. He was pliant against the Spymaster, relaxed, and utterly content to be toyed with. Daud pumped into him, fingers curving to touch that golden spot that turned the world white, his other hand reaching to tug on Martin's leaking cock. And Martin's back arched in response, a very satisfying moan escaping his lips. Outsider's eyes, the man was close, far too close. Honestly, Martin should be embarrassed, touches with the slightest allusion of _delicacy_ and _adoration_ turned the man into a quivering wreck.

In the beginning, years before when the world had been a simpler place, with no rats or plagues or the blood of an Empress pooling beneath them, their nights together had been hard and _bruising_.  Each touch had left a mark, a claim, a war of dominance and lust and unsated desires. When the rooms were cold and impersonal, abandoned apartments or filthy backrooms that could be hired by the hour, they had barely known each other and hadn't _cared_ to know each other. But it all changed after the plague, after _she_ died, something had happened between them whilst Martin had fought off the effects of a dodgy sleep dart,  and the knowledge that he should be _dead_ but Daud had _saved_ him. Daud had cradled him and told him tales of Serkonos, promised him that they would run away, protected him when the raven came calling. Things had changed. Touches were gentler, kisses were deeper, and Martin woke most mornings with an arm hooked around his waist and Daud's breath against his neck. Lust had dissolved, something else had taken its place, something warmer, something _brighter_ , and neither would change it for the world.

" _Fuck_. Daud- I don't think I can- I'm going t- _ah_ -" Martin was breathless and heaving against him, his hips thrusting erratically and rutting himself against Daud. Daud smiled, kissed Martin's hair, and increased his own pace, matching Martin's movements, pumping into him with three fingers. And it was beautifully obscene, the delightful noises Martin makes when he's _so close_ , how he sinks his teeth into Daud's shoulder as if to mute the sounds, but he's so fucking _loud_ that the whole wing can most likely hear him, and Daud revels in that thought, wants them to hear, to know, that Martin belongs to _him._

And then - _and then_ \- he just lets go.

Martin is smaller than him, a lean frame with sleek muscle and slim hips, it's easy to gather him into his arms and carry him to the ridiculously large bed. They're both sticky and glistening with sweat, and Daud slides down Martin's body with his tongue trailing the white painting his thighs and belly, with Martin grunting into the arm he'd cast over his face.  It's terrible, really, how familiar he is with Martin's taste. He plants teasing little kisses down his length, tongue trailing over his tip, and when Martin buckles his hips, desperate little noises escaping his lips, Daud suppresses a chuckle and mouths ' _Not yet,'_ around the soft skin of his balls.

"Please," Martin chokes, and Daud looks up to meet his eyes, blue orbs glossy with pleasure and want, tears trailing down his cheeks. His hands are twisted into the sheets and he's shaking, and Daud sees beauty in each quiver, every tear. "just _fuck me_."

"You'll be the death of me," Daud says, darks eyes raking over the body beneath him. With tender hands he grips Martin's legs and hooks them over his shoulders, bringing him closer, his heat pressing against Martin's entrance. Martin watches as Daud's face twists with desperation as he sinks into him, filling him and making him feel whole. Daud moves upon him in strokes that soon become thunder, and Martin feels as if he's floating, with Daud's low grunts rippling through him as he presses against that golden spot again and again...until Daud grinds to a halt, desperate pants shaking through him.

His head sags forward, hair a matted mess plastered to his forehead, pearls of sweat rolling down his neck. Martin let his hand curl around the back of Daud's neck, coaxing him down, lips lightly brushing over his. He feels Daud move within him, a gentle roll of his hips that sends a wave of heat through him, and Martin licks into Daud's mouth, tasting himself on Daud's tongue. A hand tips his jaw as the kiss deepens, hips rolling to meet each other thrust for thrust, until they're moving together in a continuous fluid motion.

And then it feels as if he's floating, lost in a sea of unrivalled pleasure, and Daud surrounds him, encompasses him, until he's no longer sure where he ends and Daud begins. It sparks through every nerve in his body and it feels like death and life rolled into one.

After, Daud holds Martin close, forehead to forehead, with legs entwined beneath the sheets and fingertips lazily tracing his spine. Daud kisses him sloppily, his grey eyes hazy with exhaustion. The pad of Martin's thumb passes over the deep scar that runs down Daud's cheek, and he murmurs ' _goodnight'_ before tucking his head against the hollow where shoulder meets neck.

Daud makes a soft and comfortable noise, arms hugging Martin just ever so slightly closer, and whispers in a voice he _almost_ mistook as a contented sigh: "I love you, Martin."

 _I love you too_ , Martin thinks, but does not allow himself to say the words aloud.


	7. soul mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested on tumblr (can't remember who?? if it's you, let me know!)
> 
> Canon Low Chaos Ending - AU where Martin is trapped in the Void because he's Daud's soul mate.
> 
> I was going to approach this in a stereotypical way but then I remembered the heart and then decided to continue the AU from chapter 4.

 The Void was endless.

He knew this, knew it just by standing still and _looking_ at the endless hues of blue, but for some reason he hadn't quite believed it until now. Rooftops turned into empty streets, to jagged rocks, carcasses of whaling ships, grand ballrooms to dusty old pubs. Mana flowed through his fingertips with each blink, he'd grasp at the air with a fist and still find a little more energy in his reserves, transversing a little further into the Void.

"You know, you'll never reach the edge." Martin was beside him, feet never quite touching the ground, an ever-present shadow at his side.

Daud barely even grunts in response. His feet touch the cobbled stones of a street for but a second and then he's on the slate tiles of a rooftop, the fluid motion of the blink feeling similar to taking in a sharp breath after holding your breath for too long, it was dizzying and electrifying all at once. He passed through the gazebo, the dark red stain throbbing and bubbling, the Empress's fair silhouette scorched into the white pale stone. He passed empty carcasses of buildings, people as still as statues with fire glazing their clothes like fine scarves, blood pooling in the gutters and children drowning in an ocean of rats.

"Daud." A voice warns, soft and tender, a voice that shouldn't be a voice, a man that shouldn't be _here_. He can't even bear to look at him, to see those hollow blue eyes, the tight line of his lips, those ridiculous ears.

He stops, telling himself that it was for just a moment, and he stares into the Void and wishes that it would just swallow him already. "There must be an end. There must be."

"There is; but not tonight." He hears him say, hears _Martin_ say, his voice is so calm, serene, and Daud wants to scream. "You will have your end, I promise you, but not now, not tonight."

 "Three years.." Daud finds himself saying these words often, and he's not aware of himself doing it, when he's tending the vines and when he's sharpening his knives. And then he'll hear himself and his blood turns to ice. "You've been here for three years...and I didn't know it."

"Three years, five months, and two days." Martin says languidly. "Though time here is quite unsubstantial, I can barely feel it passing anymore."

"Why?"

"That's a rather broad question, Daud."

"Why are you here?"

"Because that's what happens. You're tied to the Void, Daud, the mark on your hand is a symbol of that. The Void flows through your veins and you bring a little bit of the Void into the world every time you call on your abilities. It's a part of you, just as much as I am." Martin's voice is too calm, steady, as if he were delivering a sermon back in Dunwall.

Daud's hands are shaking, he clenches them into fists and unclenches, a sudden urge to run echoing through him (which is silly, because there was no where he could run _to_ , nowhere where Martin wouldn't follow him).

"You remember the heart Corvo had held to his chest, you remember hearing a voice whisper secrets to him, and you recognised the voice of the Empress even if you didn't want to believe it."

" _No_." It's all he can say, a blunt refusal to acknowledge the truth, stubborn to the end.

"I won't leave you. I can't leave you. Not yet."

Not yet, Daud echoes as he jolts into the waking world. He stares at the cracked plaster of the wall in front of him for a solid hour, watching the light from his window crawl its way up the wall, listens as the Whalers rise one by one to report to their duties. He gets up, he dresses, he greets his men with a strained smile, he gets on with his day.

That night, he burnt Martin's book, and walked away as the flames turned it to ash. His mark continued to burn long after the ashes cooled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might continue this AU.... we'll see....


	8. Martin shows Daud Irish/Morlish jigs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure when this takes place, possibly before the events of Dishonored?  
> Based on the idea that Morley is similar to Ireland, and that Serkonos is a blend of Italy and Spain, can't really remember if this is canon or not but I found it in my notes so I'll go with it for now. 
> 
> This was a request from a Tumblr user but I honestly can't remember who, it was requested two years ago and I just forgot to finish this off until now, oops!

Martin should be heading back to the Office of the High Overseer, back to his patrol, to his duties, but he can't find the will to leave now. Instead, he reclines against the tiles of the rooftop, still warm from the sun that had long since disappeared below the rugged skyline, his hair a mess and his shirt rumpled and untucked, a cigarette balanced between his lips. Beside him, Daud buttons up his trousers and slicks a hand through his hair, a lazy grin warming his features.

"If anybody had looked up.." Martin's eyes trailed along the empty streets below, the dark and empty windows of buildings.

"They wouldn't have seen anything, Martin, quit worrying. We're too high, and there's no one around, anyway." Daud rolled his eyes, reaching over to pluck the cigarette from Martin's lips to press it between his own.

Martin said nothing in reply, only watched as Daud let the smoke drip from his open mouth, and reached for the bottle of whiskey. Its bitterness washed away the taste of salt and musk in his mouth, burning a path down his throat as he swallowed. "You know, in another life, I think you would have made a terrific dancer."

Unimpressed, Daud raised a brow. "How so?"

He shrugs. "Something to do with your hips. You move so fluidly you might as well be dancing."

"You like the way I move my hips?"

"Among other things, yes." 

Daud tips his head back and laughs, and Martin finds himself smiling at the sound of it, it's not often that he laughs so openly. In many ways, Daud was like an Overseer. He restricts and restricts until he's bleached himself of all feeling and emotion, he becomes a weapon, a static and unfeeling object, rather than a human being. Like the Overseers, Daud was devout, though his offerings were of death and chaos rather than empty promises. He spilt blood like an Overseer spilt lies, without hesitation and for the promise of something better, be it power or fame, and both always left a nasty red stain on the floor. After years of anger and a rampaging lust for justice until justice gave way to revenge, Daud had become numb.

Somehow, it had been Martin who had brought the light back into Daud's eyes, he'd made the Knife of Dunwall laugh, and each smile and chuckle made his chest tighten and his cheeks redden.  
"I'm Serkonan, Martin, it's in my blood. As a young boy growing up in Cullero, I was taught many dances, as it was what we did for entertainment. There would be great parties in the streets, full of light and music, and we'd dance until the sun roused the sky. Nights in Cullero easily outshine even the Fugue, you should see it."

"I'm sure it would be quite the sight." Martin mused, blue eyes scraping over the horizon, the sun had set a while before, leaving the city in a blue haze as the mist rolled in from the sea. He watched for a moment as a boat pulled into the docks, a dockhand securing it with a thick coil of rope, papers exchanging hands. The crackling of fireworks and music could be heard from the other side of the river where a vibrant and costly party was well underway. He glanced over at Daud and realised that he had been watching him with a bemused smile on his lips. "Though, I'd much rather see you dance."

Daud's smile widened. "Only if you'll show me a Morlish jig."

"Deal." He got to his feet, much less gracefully than he'd have liked having drank a little too much whiskey. A rooftop perhaps wasn't the best place to perform his dance, the gentle slope and the slate tiles made the whole affair somewhat dangerous, but Martin barely gave it a thought as he gained his balance. It took a few taps of his feet to remember the steps of one of the dances, he found his rhythm eventually. In the salty sea air, Martin heard music, at first faint but as he moved it grew louder in his head and he let the tune guide him. It was only when he felt Daud's rough hands around his waist did he stop, those grey eyes meeting his, the music fading.

"I'm amazed at how you made such a dance look graceful." Daud chuckled, his breath ticking Martin's cheek. He almost blushed, though it would have been hard to tell with his ruddy cheeks from the alcohol.

"Are you insulting my culture?" Martin raised a brow, teasingly.  
Daud simply shook his head lightly and pressed a kiss to Martin's brow, "Though I do believe we made a deal."

"We did."

And like that, the music started again, only this time it was the sweet exotic sound of Serkonos, the colourful rhythm pulling them closer together. Daud's hands fell to his hips, guiding them gently as they moved together. Martin picked up the steps quickly, and though watching his feet move against the slate tiles made his head spin a little, his footing never faltered. Daud chuckled, a hand meeting Martin's chin to bring his attention back to him, those steel grey eyes appearing softer and perhaps even endearing now.

It may have been the alcohol, or maybe it was the way that Daud was looking at him that made him feel as if his insides were alight. He looked at him as if he put the stars in the sky. He couldn't help himself as he leaned in and gently kissed Daud's soft lips, he felt the older man's lips curl up into a smile, and Martin felt as if he were glowing like the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With so much darkness surrounding both of their characters, I think they're deserving of these small moments of joy.


	9. the voyeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon Low Chaos Ending - AU where Martin is trapped in the Void following his death. 
> 
> I love this AU so much I can't help but continue to explore it, I might eventually separate it from interlude and make it a series on its own. 
> 
> The title 'The Voyeur' is intended to be non-sexual, as there is no real non-sexual word for a person who simply watches. But sadly, that is what our dear Martin has become, a voyeur.

The Void had given him all it could in terms of entertainment. Really, there was only so much of endless blue and fragments of buildings can offer. Martin had realised early on that, in certain places where the divide between the Void and reality were particularly thin, he could even hear voices of bygone conversations in an unfamiliar language and far off lands. Those places intrigued him the most, but honestly he didn't even know where to begin in order to decipher the alien words. Mostly, he drifted, as all Void-spirits did, peeking into the world of the living at any given opportunity. He was beginning to see through the blue haze more often now, a skill he was slowly harnessing, and he'd watch Daud shuffle about that dry little farm in rural Cullero curiously.

Being trapped in a realm of permanent stasis was tortuous, the boredom was unrelenting, Martin was beginning to understand why the Outsider behaves the way he does. After over 4,000 years of this, it is no wonder why the Outsider creates his own entertainment by manipulating the lives of the living. Though, the power needed to do so is baffling, Martin often wonders what it would be like to harness such a thing. The things he could do...

The azure haze surrounding him shifted, gently rippling like the tide, clearing to reveal the golden light of Cullero.

Daud adjusted his shirt collar, with sweat beginning to glisten on his collar bone, after so many years in stormy Gristol he had found his body was taking its time in adjusting to the hard beating of the sun in Serkonos. His skin was darker, streaks of silver had started snaking their way through his hair, yet his hands had been the cleanest they had been in many years. However, there was a darkness in his grey eyes, a shadow cast over his mind that turned his mood even sourer than it usually was. One of his men, though Martin still found it hard to know which name belonged to which face, climbed onto the box seat of the cart beside Daud. He took the reins into his large and labour-hardened hands, he briefly looked to Daud who in turn gave him a curt nod, and they were off.

Dust gathered in clouds behind them as the horse carried the rickety old cart along the dirt paths, passing the tired orchards and fields of parched grass and the freckling of poppies. Serkonos was beautiful in its own strange way, the heat and winds made the land arid and yet it flourished with life, with fields of flowers with large yellow heads like the sun, where others are almost barren with rocks and dirt yet thick-skinned cactuses stood stubborn in the dry air. There was buzz of life from all around, crickets singing in the long grass and birds from high above in a sky so blue it could almost be the Void staring back at them. Daud stared across the land he called home, his eyes on the horizon where a small cluster was barely visible; the city.

Martin watched it all with fascination, he felt as if he were in the cart alongside the retired assassin, tasting the dust in the air and the burn of heat on his pale skin, he squinted into the sun and felt a smile blossoming on his lips. He could pretend, if he ignored the blue mist that framed the scene, if he ignored that his heart was still in his chest and the air being so motionless and so mild that he could barely feel it against his skin as he moved. He could pretend to be alive, as long as it meant being at Daud's side.

He wondered if Daud could feel his presence, feel every nerve ending electrify as his eyes pass over him, as if the air was slowly being sucked from his lungs. If Martin could still feel, he'd imagine that's what it would feel like. He noticed the stubble creeping along Daud's cheeks, a light shadow of a bruise along his jaw, a small cut on the curve of his bottom lip. Martin's fingers curled into his palm, wanting to trace every change, every blemish, until that face he'd once held in his hands became familiar to him once again. The last three years had left their mark on the man's flesh, he looked tired, worn down to the knuckle, despite the current respite. The man's guilt weighed heavy on his mind.

Martin admittedly was bitter over the fact that Daud never came to that Island to save him, didn't even give him a second thought as he set sail to Serkonos, freedom was the only thing on the old man's mind. Martin was not so lucky.

"You were doomed either way." The Outsider had commented dryly, floating someway above the fragmented and blood soaked floorboards of the meeting room. Martin had been still, pale as death which ironically he was, as he stared at his own lifeless body, slumped onto the table with blood dripping from his lips, hand still holding the poisoned glass.

"Either way?" It came out less than whisper, but the Outsider heard him, gave him an uninterested look before pacing around the table. The other seats were all empty, Pendleton's glass was as absent as the man himself, as was Havelock. Martin felt their presence nonetheless; he shivered. "What do you mean?"

"You were always going to die, Martin. The method varies, in this end you admitted defeat and willingly took the poison Farley Havelock served you, in another, darker, world you take your own life. There was no other outcome for you, you weren't to survive this."

Martin looked down at himself and saw his dream crumble to dust. The title of High Overseer hadn't been his for long, he'd barely touched upon the power he'd been searching for his whole life, he'd never even worn the damned red coat that came with it. For a moment, anger rose up from inside him, all those lost opportunities, an entire life ahead of him. All of the things he wanted to do, the things he wanted to change, all of that planning and dreaming had been futile. Fate had been cruel, it had dealt him the worst hand, it had dangled the life he always wanted just beyond his reach and then let him fall. _You were doomed._ Destined to die. What was the point of it all?

He still didn't know. Three years had passed and he had long since abandoned the question, it would simply drive him mad, if that were even possible. Instead, he followed Daud. Not that it was his choice, he was unable to see anything else, every glimpse that came was always of him. He wondered what had become of his family, his brothers in the Order, and whether he'd ever find the answers to his questions. It seemed as if his only purpose in the Void was to watch over Daud and no one else. It was a lonely thing, watching the one he loved continue to live his life without him, knowing there was little he could do. At least now he had managed to bridge a little communication with him, though Void knows whether that had helped or worsened the situation. Perhaps it would have been best to let Daud live on in ignorance, blind to Martin watching over his shoulder. The Void permits little feeling, the endless blue and static hums encourage a level of emotional detachment, which had unfortunately started to take hold of Martin and calm his fierce heart. It only allowed for a small pang of empathy, a measure of guilt, not quite the emotional tidal wave that came with a beating heart.

Daud and his cart had reached the city, the pale chalky buildings were a harsh contrast to the vibrant blue of the sky, tall and narrow with thin windows, washing lines cast between the buildings and above the road, creating a multitude of colours blowing in the breeze. A group of skinny children had been playing with a ball in the road, the man sat beside Daud called out to them and they reluctantly cleared the road, dark faces smeared with sand and dust watched them silently as they passed by, any trace of juvenile joy somehow vanished in an instant. Daud kept his eyes on the road, ignoring the stares and looks of fear, his face a perfect statue.

Further into the city they travelled, following paths that became narrower and dirtier, the buildings no longer sun-bleached but instead smattered with mud and dust. The muggy smell of damp, disease and poverty was heavy in the air. The glare of the sun above cast the city in a murky yellow cloud of dust and mosquitoes, making the shadows darker, the streets quieter. Finally, the cart came to a stop.

"You're sure this is the place?"

"I'm sure." Daud slid from out of the cart, his boots disturbing the filth that covered the street. They stood outside some sort of shack, not quite a building as there was no way a builder of any sort of reputation would construct such a thing, it was a mismatch of timber and other bits of garbage that occupied the small space between two run-down and neglected residences.  Above the door was a plaque, filthy and obviously hand made, with the words: "Madame Emelda Stone - Astrologist, Herbalist, Tarot Reader, and Spiritual Advisor" carved into the wood. There was an air of dark magic about the place, ancient spices and the spark of the cosmos; Daud felt the mark tingle beneath his glove. Yes, this was definitely the place, if anyone could help it would be Ms Emelda Stone. With one last look at the blue sky far above, he took a deep breath and knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expect more from this AU, I can't stay away from it haha


End file.
